TO THE LIGHTHOUSEtogether, to rouse in her a feeling of anxiety. What itwas about she could not think at first. Then sheremembered; Paul and Minta and Andrew had notcome back. She summoned before her again the littlegroup on the terrace in front of the hall door, stand-ing looking up into the sky. Andrew had his net andbasket. That meant he was going to catch crabs andthings. That meant he would climb out on to a rock;he would be cut off. Or coming back single file onone of those little paths above the cliff one of themmight slip. He would roll and then crash. It wasgrowing quite dark.

But she did not let her voice change in the leastas she finished the story, and added, shutting thebook, and speaking the last words as if she had madethem up herself, looking into James’s eyes: "Andthere they are living still at this very time."

“And that’s the end," she said, and she saw in hiseyes, as the interest of the story died away in them,something else take its place; something wondering,pale, like the reflection of a light, which at oncemade him gaze and marvel. Turning, she lookedacross the bay, and there, sure enough, coming reg-ularly across the waves first two quick strokes andthen one long steady stroke, was the light of theLighthouse. It had been lit.

In a moment he would ask her, “Are we going94
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